


Lies We Tell Ourselves

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [88]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy isn’t the only one angry at Giles after the attempt on Spike’s life.  But Joyce understands what it was really about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies We Tell Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published October 13, 2005
> 
> Takes place during and after the events of Lies My Parents Told Me. Thanks to Mydeira for helping me get this even deeper and more personal.

Giles opened the back door and was surprised to see Buffy there, reaching into the refrigerator. She stood up to study him with blank, emotionless eyes.

Unable to meet her gaze, he turned to shut the door behind him. “Buffy,” he said carefully, taking a tentative step towards her, “I understand your anger. Please believe me, we did what we thought—“

“It didn’t work.”

Her interruption threw him off. “I beg your pardon?”

“Spike’s alive. Wood failed.” She closed the refrigerator, and he saw she was holding the discreet plastic container Joyce kept Spike’s blood in. Her expression unchanged, Buffy went to the counter to pour a measure out into a waiting mug. “It wasn’t one of your better plans, Giles.” She returned the container to the fridge. “I mean, if I couldn’t kill him in all those years of trying, what made you think some wanna-be he-Slayer could do it?” She put the mug in the microwave, the annoying beeps as she programmed it grating on his nerves.

“That doesn’t change the fact—“

“When did the rules change, Giles?” She whirled on him, and he wasn’t sure if it was relief or fear he felt at the cold fury she now radiated.

“I don’t . . .”

“I know you don’t think I listened all that time.” She held herself uncharacteristically rigid, her arms crossed over her chest as though holding herself back from physically lashing out at him. “But I did. I listened when you told me how much you admired that I listened to my heart. I listened when you told me that forgiveness is an act of compassion, that it’s not about the person deserving it, it’s about them needing it. Spike needs forgiveness now, and I need Spike. So when did the rules change?”

The ease with which she spat his own words, years old now, back at him was disconcerting. “There’s a difference between trusting your heart and being ruled by your emotions, Buffy,” he tried to explain.

“You think that’s all this is? Another crush like Angel making me blind? You just don’t get it, Giles.” The microwave dinged, interrupting her, and for a moment she stood frozen, as frail and delicate as a deer in headlights. At last she turned, opening the door to remove the mug. “Loving Spike saved me,” she said without looking at him, her voice quieter but no less intense. “He kept me from being just a mindless killing machine. I could see how it was possible for vampires to change, and to understand that most of them won’t, ever. Slaying stopped being about death, it became . . . compassionate. If it weren’t for Spike, for everything I have with him, the good, the bad, the incredibly ugly, I would have ended up as just a killer, unable to love anything at all. And you tried to take that away from me right when I need it the most.”

“Buffy, you can’t trust him . . .”

“No!” She slammed the mug down on the counter, viscous liquid splashing up to tint her hand crimson black. “You can’t trust him. But that’s your problem, Giles, not mine. You want to stay in this fight? Get over it.”

“You would choose him over me?” He was shocked at her easy dismissal of him and heedless of how childish he sounded.

She looked momentarily pained, but her expression hardened again. “Don’t make me choose, Giles. We both have sacrificed too much already.” Picking up the mug, she started towards the basement, pausing in the doorway. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told Robin. Don’t try to kill Spike again. The muzzle’s off now, and I won’t hold him back if you do.”

“Buffy, please, listen to me . . .”

She closed the door in his face.

“Damn that girl!” he swore, but small gnawings of guilt began to eat away at his insides. It had been duplicitous, he’d known that going in. But he had been so assured that they were right, and he knew how stubborn she could be. He had done what he had to do. What was his responsibility as Buffy’s Watcher. To clear her path so she could do her job.

“I don’t believe you,” Joyce’s voice came from behind him, as hard and angry as Buffy’s had been.

He turned to see her standing there, arms crossed over her chest in eerie imitation of her daughter. “I thought we’d talked about this. I _thought_ we agreed that Spike was on our side.”

“No, Joyce,” he felt guilt turning to anger. “I just found it pointless to continue arguing when every woman in this house is too enamored with Spike to even consider he might be dangerous.”

“Don’t you condescend to me, Rupert Giles,” she snapped back at him. “You’ve never liked Spike. Now isn’t the time to let your prejudice take precedence over what Buffy needs.”

“What Buffy needs,” he growled, pacing in front of her, “is to come to grips with reality. People don’t change, and it’s only a matter of time before Spike turns on her. If we’re lucky. If we live that long.”

She watched him in silence, her brows knitting together. When they relaxed, there was sadness in her eyes. “This isn’t about Ethan, Rupert.”

“What?” He froze, all the air stolen from his lungs.

“Spike isn’t Ethan, Rupert.” She stepped forward to put a hand on his arm, her voice turning gentle and understanding. “We can’t judge him for Ethan’s crimes. Spike did change, in ways that not even you can deny. Ethan . . . didn’t. Punishing Spike won’t change that.”

He struggled to find the anger again. But Joyce was always able to see through his pretense to the truths he wouldn’t admit, even to himself. Still he resisted. “People don’t change, Joyce. They don’t.”

Reaching up a hand, she cupped his cheek. “You did.”

Her empathy broke him. The realization of his true motives, of what he had done out of his own guilt and pain, crashed over him in layers and textures of shame and sorrow and loss. “Oh, god, Joyce. We trusted him. I never should have let him close to you or the girls. I’m so sorry . . .” Once acknowledged, there was no holding it back.

As he dissolved into guilty, anger-ridden sobs, Joyce gathered him into her arms, holding him close and murmuring comfort to him. “It’s not your fault. It was his choice, his decision. You’re not to blame. Shh.”

Neither of them heard the basement door close quietly.


End file.
